


touch / me / fall

by justalittlegreen



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Claiming, Hair-pulling, M/M, Not Particularly Dark, Pure Smut, Smut, blowjob, hawk topping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: "You're so pretty when you're desperate," Hawk says, and John nearly loses himself on the spot.





	touch / me / fall

It starts with laughing; so much starts with laughing, and then they're rolling, twisting, bodies tangled and pushing against each other, delicious friction and want. When Hawk takes him down, Trap almost doesn't fight back, relishes the feel of Hawk's lean, muscled arms pinning his to his side.

"/Mine,/" Hawkeye says, a soft growl rising in the back of his throat. And suddenly, they're miles away from laughter, chest rising against chest, sweaty in the half-light of the supply shed. 

/Yours,/ Trap thinks, sinking into the moment, feeling something give way. Something gives, and what comes up in its place is a whispered, "Please, Hawk."

Hawkeye threads his fingers through John's hair, pulls his head back as far as he can. John grits his teeth and breathes through them as Hawkeye leans down to suck a bruise far too high on his throat to hide.

"/Mine,/" Hawkeye says again when he's finished. Lower. Darker. Trap aches. There are no words for the way his whole body begs to be taken. He moans, struggling one leg free and hooking it around Hawkeye's hip. He's so desperate he can practically taste Hawk on his tongue, mouth watering, belly fluttering. "Please," he says again, hoarse and needy. 

"Please what?" Hawkeye answers, teasing the hollow of John's throat with two slender fingers. 

John closes his eyes. "Want you, Hawk," he manages.

Hawkeye chuckles, and it's dark, thick, but not unkind. "That's a good thing," he says, kissing John's jawbone, "Because I want you. On your knees."

Hawk reaches to the night table, fumbling through his kit bag and pulls out a rubber glove and a half-squeezed tube, dropping them on Trap's chest. He rolls off him, leans up on one elbow, his other hand going to massage the bulge in his shorts. 

"You want this?" he asks, half mischief, half command. "Get yourself ready. While I watch."

John shudders. He's never - Hawkeye's always done this, on the rare occasions that it's gone this way. He fumbles the glove on, slicks himself up and reaches behind him.

"Eyes on me, Trap," Hawk says quietly as he starts to probe. John blushes all the way to his chest and fights the urge to close his eyes. Or run. He doesn't stop working his fingers, slips the tip of one in, mouth hanging open, slack, as Hawkeye palms himself, watching. 

"You're so pretty when you're desperate," Hawk says, and John nearly loses himself on the spot.

Hawk thrills, watching Trapper unfurl himself in front of him. It's so rare to find him in a mood like this, willing to take, to open, to let Hawkeye lead, and he holds the trust like something precious. 

He reaches a hand over, rakes it through John's hair as he starts to squirm on his own fingers, panting with the effort. 

"That's it, Trap," he says. "Don't stop." And with that, he pulls Trapper's head in close to his own, kissing him hard and deep. John never initiates kisses, especially not ones like this. And damnit, Hawk wants it, wants John open and vulnerable for him. And if he can push him that way tonight, he'll take it.

Trap groans into Hawk's mouth, welcomes his tongue, the firm fingers on the back of his head, feeling pinned between Hawk's hand and his own, and damnit, he /wants/ it.

Hawk breaks the kiss, enjoying the way John breathes hard, head bent, fingers still working. Hawkeye sits up and runs his hand from John's shoulder down to his wrist. "You almost ready?" he asks, knowing the answer. John nods. Hawkeye grabs his chin with his other hand and pulls his head up. "Answer me."

John struggles, wanting the words to be there, wanting to give Hawk what he's asking for. Hawk can see it on his face, the lifetime of learning and shame clamping his tongue. He slides hand back into Trapper's curls, grips deep at the roots, and pulls. "/Answer me./"

The pain does what patience can't; the "Yes, please, yes /fuck/" crashes out of his mouth, and as soon as it does, Hawkeye's sweeping down to kiss him again, and this time it's sweet and open and John feels something loosen in his chest.

John clings to the edge as Hawkeye drives him into the mattress, over and over, his long thumb and forefinger circling the base of John's cock and holding fast as he tries to stroke himself against the blanket. The air is all grunts and shudders and close, close, close, so close he can practically taste it. Hawk pauses for a second, their hips nestled together as he bends down, biting at the tender skin below John's ribs, licking at the salt of him. There'll be another bruise there for him to admire in the shower tomorrow, something for Trap to remember this night by.

He doesn't want this to end. He knows there's a chance as soon as he lets Trap come that the spell will be broken; that Trapper will duck and run, spend the next hours, even days avoiding him while he works it through. He'll come back, though. Always does.

In the meantime, Hawkeye does his best to stave it off, holding him on the edge, enjoying the struggle. Taking whatever John's willing to give.

"Kiss me," Hawk says, eyes already crinkling with mischief as John leans in and he ducks out of the way. "Kiss me," he repeats, and as Trapper leans in, he grabs him by the hair and pulls his face away. John leans into the tension, half play, half growl, as he makes a grab for Hawkeye's waist. 

The bastard's too thin (/too thin,/ Trapper thinks, in an entirely different tone, filed away for later) and squirms out of his grip as nimbly as a fish through a wet hand. "Kiss me!" Hawkeye yelps, unable to keep the giggles at bay as Trap gets more and more frustrated, coming after him, finally tackling him for real, bringing him down to the mattress. Hawk shoves a palm over Trap's lips as a last desperate attempt to win the game, which brings Trapper's teeth to bear against his skin.

Hawkeye stops as John slips a tongue between his middle and ring fingers, thrusts his hips against John involuntarily, shuddering with pleasure. His hand relaxes against John's face. He takes advantage of the pause and dives in, getting a handful of Hawkeye's hair and pressing his head to his, mouth hot and urgent, tongue seeking. Taking. 

Hawk always lets him win.

*

Shhh," Hawkeye says, tracing his fingers oh-so-lightly over John's cock. John's closes his eyes, tries to swallow, tries to stifle the small, crying noises making their way around the gag as Hawkeye strokes him. For the thousandth time, he tries to jerk away. He should've never taught Hawk the boy scout knots.

Hawkeye kisses Trap's knuckles; they're white, but only because he's gripping the arms of the chair so hard; he checked the bonds twice. He comes up and wipes his thumb through the drool on Trap's chin, taps on the gag. "Your mouth ok?" he asks quietly. Trap nods. 

"You know what I'm going to do now that you're all ready," Hawk says conversationally, sitting on the edge of his cot and unlacing his boots.

Trap makes a strangled noise. Hawkeye looks up and sees his eyes watering. He's so hard. He must be so full, given what he's sitting on. Hawk's only regret is that he can't see without untying him.

"That's right," he continues, smirking as he unbuckles his belt. Trap leans forward as much as he can towards Hawk's hips, eyes begging. "Oh, no, not that," Hawk says, chuckling. "I like your mouth as full as it is. No, I'm going to get a taste of what you're feeling."

John's eyes go wide as Hawkeye grabs the tube and eases a layer of slick over his cock. He pulls his hand away twice, waiting until Trap's breathing steadies. "Uh-uh," he says, "There's a beautiful poetry here, Trap, I thought you'd understand. You, filled and filling me, don't you see? Pinned between pleasures? But you have to last long enough to get there."

If Trapper could speak, he'd fire off some quippy comeback, but all he can do is make urgent, pleading noises behind the gag.

Hawk sinks down slowly, hands braced on Trapper's forearms, trying not to put too much on it, moaning with every inch - he may be utterly in control, but he's still a live wire - and finally, gingerly, rests his full weight in Trapper's lap, driving Trap down another inch he didn't know was there beneath him and oh /fuck./ They still, there. Hawkeye can feel John's chest heaving against his back, feels his mouth dripping onto his shoulder and he loves it. 

And then he starts to move. Tiny, wiggling motions that have Trapper seeing stars. "/Fuck,/" Hawkeye groans, before reigning himself in. "Bet you wish you could touch me," he says. "I'm so turned on, you'd get two fingers on me to set me off. Bet you'd like that, mm?" 

Trapper hisses and jerks his head back and forth, the only part of him he can move. He's desperate to move, to thrust deeper, to fill Hawkeye, make him come, make him scream - 

"Easy," Hawk says. "I can feel you twitching. You'd better not come before I've had my fill. Don't disappoint me."

Aww," Hawk says, starting to rock again. "Look, how about I don't touch myself either? In solidarity! That way, it's all fair and square, isn't it?" He clenches his muscles as he says it, which is, as far as John's concerned, just plain evil. What the hell does Hawk want from him?

Hawk goes quiet for a moment, working his hips in small motions, adjusting the angle, finding the place that drives him wild. Trap hears it when he gets it right; a hard hitch in the breath, and then the short, repetitive thrusts. The sound of his ragged breathing goes right through John; he almost wishes he could block his ears. It's too much, too good, he's stretched and full and Hawk's body is hot and snug and /everything./

John rests his head against Hawk's back, tears falling, nose running, shaking. /Please,/ he tries so hard to say. /Please./

It comes out as an anguished wail that sets Hawk off, jerking and shuddering in his lap.

Trapper rubs his forehead against Hawkeye's back because it's the only thing he can do, the only way he can reach, touch, the only thing he can /offer,/ which is what kills him most about being tied up. Hawkeye's back is rounded, slumped, his feet finally flat on the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and catching his breath. Trapper's cock is caught half-in, half-out and he still hasn't come.

"uuuuuuunh" he says, a low moan he hopes Hawk will understand means "fuck, or get off my cock," and also "I love you."

Hawkeye finally eases himself off turns around, grabs a towel and gives John a none-too-delicate rubdown, which in itself is almost enough to set him over the edge. He whines and strains as Hawkeye hums tunelessly, busying himself with his task. Standing, his hips are level with John's face, and at one point, he leans over to grab something and his soft, spent cock brushes John's cheek. Trap almost forgets about the gag and tries to turn and kiss it, and Hawkeye's chuckle at his frustration is almost enough to set him weeping.

"There, there," Hawkeye says, catching Trapper's chin in his fingers and stroking a thumb along his jawline. He gives John another assessing look, and apparently doesn't like what he sees, so he reaches behind John's head and unties the gag.

John gasps, licks his lips over and over, swallows. Hawkeye gently massages his jaw for him, the way he would if he could move his hands. "Shhh," Hawk says, grabbing his canteen and tipping it to John's lips. "I know you're sore, but I couldn't help it. You're so pretty with your mouth full."

John inwardly rolls his eyes. On how many nurses has he used that exact same line? He gulps at the offered water, shaking his head to indicate when he's finished. Hawk wipes his chin, neck and chest, cleaning him up. 

"Are you ready to keep going?" he asks softly right at John's ear.

Trapper turns his head and nuzzles Hawk's shoulder. "Trap?" Hawkeye says in his normal voice, concern creeping in around the edges. 

Trapper shakes his head. " 'm okay," he whispers hoarsely. "Don' wanna talk." He feels Hawk smile, rather than sees it.

Hawkeye cups his head in his hand, keeps it against him for a second, pressing a kiss into John's hair. "Then let's play one more game. And that's me doing my best to make you scream, and you doing your best not to wake up the rest of Seoul. Sound good?"

Trap nods eagerly.

You know how good you are?" Hawkeye mutters as he checks John's feet for circulation. "So good," he continues, tracing a finger up the inside of John's thigh just to watch him twitch with nowhere to go, "I didn't need you to do a damn thing. Your body is a beautiful ride, Trap, all by itself."

John bites back a reply, recognizing the bait and wanting to take it anyway.

"Hold back, Trap," Hawkeye says, his hand loosely wrapped around his cock and vaguely stroking it, hardly touching him. John grits his teeth and breathes as hard as he can, shooting eye daggers at Hawkeye's wide-eyed fake innocence. "Something the matter?"

Trap lunges forward to the best of his limited ability and snaps his teeth. Hawk laughs, dark. "Testy, testy, " he murmurs, intensifying the stroke. "Are you going to be good? Are you going to sit back and take what you're given?"

Trapper slams his head back against the back of the chair like he's been shoved. Anything. He'll do anything, as long as Hawk doesn't stop.

Hawk doesn't stop.

"Not a sound," he whispers, his grip more firm, his fingers taking the familiar shape of Trapper's cock and stroking it with purpose. "Don't even move. Close your eyes."

Trapper holds his breath, willing himself not to break whatever spell of grace Hawkeye's granting him.

"Not a muscle," Hawkeye says, reaching a spare hand around the back of the chair leg and untying his right ankle. "Are you going to be good?" he asks, untying John's knee.

Trap doesn't know if nodding or answering is worse, so he makes do with a tiny, high moan that barely slips through his lips. Hawkeye kisses his knee, still stroking. "Good answer." 

He works his way through the knots, pausing occasionally when he needs two hands. Trapper doesn't protest. He grips the edge of the chair, hooks his feet around the legs in a bid to keep himself as still as possible.

Finally, he's completely unwrapped. Hawkeye stands back and admires his work. John's on the edge, dripping, marked, hard and beautiful. Finally, finally, just taking it. 

Finally, acceptance.

Hawk kneels at his lover's feet. "Open your eyes."

John does, just in time to see Hawk bend over and wordlessly, with no hands, take him into his mouth.

Trap focuses on breathing as quietly as he can through his mouth, while Hawkeye sucks at his cock. He tries to imagine all of his impulses to flail and yell as threads to be spun into a single cord, coiling in his belly. He can't help the rise and fall of his chest, but he wills his fingers to relax their grip, to show Hawk he can take it, can take anything

for him.

He realizes his body has forgotten the plug in his ass, has relaxed sufficiently (and frankly, gone a little numb) but as Hawkeye works him to the edge, he starts to feel it again, feels himself starting to shake with the effort of not moving. He tries to say Hawkeye's name, but it comes out as breath. Just breath, in short gasps, and he's trying to hold back, he's trying to be good, and it's too far  
too late  
"/I can't/"  
"/I can't/"  
between movement and sound, Trap chooses sound, and the sound of him coming in Hawkeye's mouth, pinned, as Hawk said, is open, broken, ragged, and Hawk takes, and takes, and takes him. 

John sags limp against the chair, unable to move even if he wanted to. Hawkeye pulls off him with a satisfying smack of his lips, gathers John into his arms and pulls him into bed. They lie still, Hawkeye curled on his side with his head beside Trapper's. Trapper's voice has disappeared again. He takes Hawk's hand and puts it on his heart, presses his own over it.

"Shhh," Hawk says into his ear, reaching his arm all the way around Trapper's chest, pulling him close and rocking him in close, small motions. "Shhhhh. You'll come back. You always do."


End file.
